Posts tagged “counterpunch”
March 15, 2013
Happy St. Patrick’s Day! In between the parade and a cold glass of Guinness, if you’d like to explore Irish culture on a deeper level, check out Martha Long’s memoir on growing up in the slums of Dublin in 1950s, MA, HE SOLD ME FOR A FEW CIGARETTES.
As Alice Walker says about the book,
“Reading this startling testament to one child’s valiant attempts to live until the age of sixteen is a worthy reminder that we can do better as adults if we turn to embrace the children who are suffering, anywhere on earth…”
And Counterpunch says,
“This is a searing account of childhood survival. No more haunting memoir has been published this year.”
Check out an interview with Martha on WORT-FM.
“Ma, He Sold Me for a Few Cigarettes”, a “haunting memoir” of 1950s Dublin by Martha Long is on sale now!
December 5, 2012
Counterpunch says “This is a searing account of childhood survival. No more haunting memoir has been published this year.”
Publishers Weekly gives the book a starred review: “Bestselling memoirist Martha Long takes readers to 1950s Dublin, where it is nothing short of a miracle that she survived her childhood. Long chronicles her life from ages three to 11, letting the child she once was ‘tell the story in her own voice:’ a dynamic, colorful Irish dialect. Not for the faint of heart, Long’s story is a gritty, grueling, and heartbreaking testament to one girl’s unbreakable spirit.”
“Reading this startling testament to one child’s valiant attempts to live until the age of sixteen is a worthy reminder that we can do better as adults if we turn to embrace the children who are suffering, anywhere on earth…”—Alice Walker, from the forward
“No more haunting memoir has been published this year” says Counterpunch about Ma, He Sold Me for a Few Cigarettes
November 19, 2012
Counterpunch gives a rave review of Ma, He Sold Me for a Few Cigarettes, the first in a six-volume series by Martha Long about her childhood in the slums of 1950s Dublin.
“There are a few moments in this relentlessly bleak story when Martha believes that her life will get better, one brief period when it looks as if Sally has had enough abuse from Jackster that she can live without him, but mostly Ma, He Sold Me for a Few Cigarettes chronicles one indignity after another: physical and sexual abuse, starvation, freezing from the cold, and—equally bleak—constantly suffering indignities from other children.
More than anything else and in spite of the most overwhelming odds, Martha fights back—not with words or actions but with an ever active mind. This is a searing account of childhood survival. No more haunting memoir has been published this year.”Read the full review by Charles R.
August 3, 2012
“The gap between the wealth of America’s most awesomely affluent and everyone else is holding steady…But wasteful consumption can’t explain the inequality paradox either. Deep pockets in America’s top 0.01 percent could shell out $5,000 every single day of the year and still have 93 percent of their annual incomes left to spend”
According to Sam Pizzigati, author of The Rich Don’t Always Win, the wealthiest percent of Americans are increasing their earnings over time, but the wealth gap is still holding steady. What explains this phenomenon? Secret global tax havens! Read Pizzati’s full article uncovering the mystery here on Counterpunch.
The Rich Don’t Always Win speaks directly to the political hopelessness so many Americans feel. By tracing how average Americans took down plutocracy over the first half of the 20th Century—and how plutocracy came back—Pizzigati’s book outfits the 99% with a deeper understanding of what we need to do to get the United States back on track to the American dream.
November 17, 2009
From Ron Jacobs’s “No More Star-Spangled Eyes” at Counterpunch:
Author and antiwar organizer Beverly Gologorsky wrote a book a couple years ago titled Things We Do To Make It Home. This book was recently released in paperback by Seven Stories Press. It is a beautifully wrought story of a group of Vietnam veterans, their lovers, families and friends set in the 1990s. Twenty years after their return from the jungles of Nam the world they live in is still littered with the veterans’ experience in combat. Like so many of their real-life comrades, the men in the story have left much damage in their wake. Simultaneously, there is a love that binds them all together. That same love reaches across the lines between suburb and city while it tears relationships into remnants barely held together by threads of memory. There is no blame here, despite the desire to find somewhere to place the despair and anger resulting from the demons that define the lives these men have lived. The women who have loved them despite their better sense, the hopelessness the men hide with drugs and alcohol and the children who wonder where there father really is even when he’s sitting in the same room are portrayed with an emotional and spiritual depth the reader won’t find in newspaper reports about veteran suicides and PTSD statistics. There isn’t a lot of hope in this novel, despite the optimism voiced by some of its characters. These are men who know they were screwed and can’t seem to figure out how to get past the war they were sent to fight. Nonetheless, they go on living life as best as they can while often unaware of the pain they cause–a pain directly related to the guilt they feel because of the injury they caused to those their commanders called the enemy while fighting Washington’s war.
November 3, 2009
FJS: You often write that the dominant culture has robbed the world of its subjectivity; how does this influence our behavior? And if the stories we are told inculcate an objective perception of the world and those around us, then how do we shatter those lenses in order to begin perceiving the world for what it is – a matrix of subjective relations to be in communion with?
DJ: If you do not perceive the fundamental beingness of others (i.e. nonhuman animals, trees, mountains, rivers, rocks, etc), or in some senses do not even perceive their existence, then nothing I say or write can convince you. Nor will evidence be likely to convince you, since, as already mentioned, you won’t perceive it, or more accurately, won’t allow yourself to perceive it. No matter how well I write, if you have never made love, I cannot adequately describe to you what it feels like to do so. Even moreso, if you insist that no such thing as making love even exists, then I will certainly never be able to adequately explain to you what it feels like. For that matter, I cannot describe the color green to someone who is blind, and who even moreso insists that green does not exist, could never exist; as well as to someone who knows that philosophers from Aristotle to Descartes to Dawkins have conclusively shown that green does not exist, could not exist, has never existed, and will never exist … who cannot acknowledge that this culture would collapse if its members individually and/or collectively perceived this green that cannot be allowed to exist. If I could describe the color green to you, I would do it. I would drive you, as R.D. Laing put it, out of your wretched mind.